Marc Myers writes daily on jazz legends and legendary jazz recordings

June 2013

June 18, 2013

A few weeks ago, a Danish film went up on YouTube featuring Dizzy Gillespie with saxophonist-arranger Ernie Wilkins' Almost Big Band in 1983. What makes this film fascinating is the behind-the-scenes banter and rehearsal in advance of their concert at the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen, Denmark. Here's the film...

June 15, 2013

The judges who determine which performing artists will receive the 2013 Kennedy Center Honors for lifetime achievement are now deliberating. Last week I heard from a group that's trying to persuade those judges to consider Nancy Wilson. I'm in complete agreement.

Nancy broke many barriers when she signed with Capitol Records in 1959. Nat King Cole, of course, was first to blaze the trail for black pop vocalists in the LP era—all vocalists, in fact. Frank Sinatra's shift to a hipper, swinging sound at Capitol beginning in 1954 didn't come out of thin air. Nancy went a step further, shattering the glass ceiling for female black vocalists whose voices were routinely pegged by labels as too soulful or jazzy for pop, which generated significantly more revenue.

Nancy changed all of that—recasting the image of the young black female singer thanks to her vocal control, movie-star looks and glamorous silhouette. In the TV age, such a repositioning was a big deal. Motown and other labels quickly recast their female vocalists from teen gospel belters to statuesque supper-club starlets. For this, Diana Ross, Dionne Warwick and others owe Nancy a debt of gratitude for her grace, vocal power and coy pop delivery.

Nancy's efforts also had a profound impact on the struggle for racial integration. She appeared with ease on television variety shows hosted by white hosts, putting live and at-home audiences at ease by performing as though racial barriers didn't exist. Her clear pop diction also was a factor. But Nancy didn't hide behind the safety of her pop success. She worked tirelessly but quietly on behalf of the Civil Rights movement.

In my conversations with Nancy, she has often been low-key on her Civil Rights efforts and achievements, preferring to focus on the music instead.

Now is the time for the Kennedy Center judges to step up and honor Nancy for her singing, her tireless vocal promotion of Broadway and movie music, her work to bring black and white pop audiences together, and her support for integration, civil rights and feminism in the music industry.

For more information on efforts in support of Nancy Wilson, go here. I hear that Kennedy Center judges will vote toward the end of July/early August. For my favorite YouTube clip that makes all of the points above, go here.

Greg Lewis's album Organ Monk, released in 2012, is terrific. On the album, Lewis interprets the music of Thelonious Monk on a Hammond B-3.Bret Primack, the Jazz Video Guy, caught up with Greg here in an interview...

Sam Most, RIP. Swinging West Coast flutist Sam Most died last week. I hear he wrote a song, called Morphine Blues before he died and his family sang it with him
before he died in his sleep. A memorial will be held this Sunday, June 16, at the Musician's Union (817 Vine St. in Hollywood, CA), from 1 to 5:00 p.m. Suggested donation is $10. One of my favorite Most albums is The Herbie Mann-Sam Most Quintet for Bethlehem in the '50s.

Mary McCartney. Last week, photographer Mike McCartney and former member of the The Scaffold sent along a link to a Liverpool Echo feature on his niece, photographer Mary McCartney [pictured above]. To read it, go here. And for my interview with Mike in Liverpool in 2012, go here.

Rossano Sportiello [pictured above] will be at the Café Carlyle from Tuesday to Saturday playing a piano tribute to the artistry of George Shearing. Rossano will be joined by bassist Joel Forbes and drummer Dennis Mackrel. The set starts at 8:45pm. For information and reservations, go here.

Frank Sinatra and Nelson Riddle. Few sounds are as closely linked to a singer as George Roberts' bass trombone intro on Nelson Riddle's arrangement of I've Got You Under My Skin for Frank Sinatra. Here's how it came together. And here's how the song sounded in 1956, when Songs for Swingin' Lovers was released...

Beware the CD! Today, we're moving fast through the era of the music download to
the streaming library. But once upon a time, the CD was new and vinyl
was on the run. Alan Elliott at UCLA sent along this YouTube clip...

Ed Shaughnessy, the driving big-band drummer who died in May, taped a video for photographer Jules Follett for her October 2011 Sticks 'n' Skins book party in New York. The book features Jules' photos and biographies of dozens of great drummers. Here's Ed's video...

CD discovery of the week. The prestigious Manhattan School of Music in New York recently recorded Artistry in Rhythm: Music of the Innovations Orchestras—featuring the charts performed and recorded by Stan
Kenton in 1950 and '51. This Kenton orchestra of 43 musicians included strings and an expanded woodwind and brass section and experimented with jazz-classical ideas. Though hardly the swinging wall-of-sound band that would follow when the Innovations concept ended, the orchestra produced some amazing work. Here, in a live performance, the Manhattan School of Music orchestra does a miraculous job on highly complex material. Note that this isn't a studio recording but if you turn up the volume a bit, your eyes will grow wide.

June 14, 2013

I've never seen a video clip of pianist Al Haig, have you? Yesterday I found one of Haig playing with James Moody (alto sax), Ray Brown (bass) and Kenny Clarke (drums). It comes from Dizzy Gillespie's Bebop Reunion—a 1975 PBS SoundStage show in Chicago. I'm alerted that my good friend Doug Ramsey featured the clip earlier this month at Rifftides. For background on the clip you're about to see, here's New England Public Radio host and blogger Tom Reney. And now, on with the show. Here's the group playing Groovin' High, with a fine, strong solo by Haig...

June 13, 2013

On Tuesday evening, I met Tony Hatch at his New York hotel and we went for a stroll in Times Square. I'll tell you why in a moment. First, in today's Wall Street Journal (go here or buy the paper), you'll find my profile of Tony. [Pictured above: A tourist snaps Tony Hatch and me on 48th St. and Broadway this past Tuesday at 5:30 p.m.]

If the name Tony Hatch doesn't quite ring a bell, it shouldn't to most Americans. He spent most of his songwriting, arranging and producing years in the '60s and '70s in London and Australia and is largely unknown in the States. You probably known him best as the writer, arranger and producer of Petula Clark's Downtown and nine of her other hits between 1964 and 1967, including My Love, A Sign of the Times and Don't Sleep in the Subways. He also wrote Call Me, which virtually everyone has recorded. [Pictured above: Petula Clark]

Tony flew into New York from London on Tuesday for his Songwriters Hall of Fame induction tonight along with Aerosmith's Steven Tyler and Joe Perry, Foreigner's Mick Jones and Lou Gramm, Holly Knight and J.D. Souther. I wanted to walk with Tony so we could find the exact spot where the music for Downtown came to him. Tony came to a halt on the northwest corner of 48th St. and Broadway. As he looked south into Times Square—with all the flashing LED screens—he said: "This is the spot. It was here, just when the neon signs came on. Even today everyone's excited. You really can't be alone here, can you?" [Pictured above: Tony Hatch]

In October 1964, Tony was staying at the Essex House on Central Park South. A day before returning to London, he went for a walk and wound up on 48th St. and Broadway. As he waited at the corner for the lights to change, he was in awe of the bustling crowd—particularly their animated, excited faces. That's when the melody came to him. "It began with the opening piano solo in my mind and built from there," he told me.

Back at his hotel in '64, he sketched-out the music and, when he was in Paris a few days later, he played the new song for Clark. She loved it and asked for lyrics. Tony wrote them, and the result was the British Invasion's first #1 female hit in January 1965.

I'm probably speaking for many my age when I say that Downtown left a much bigger impression on me than the Beatles in early 1965. I was 7 years old when the Fab Four arrived in New York in February '64, and much of the early fuss was really a blur for me. By January 1965, however, I was 8—and the piano intro to Downtown along with Clark's voice building to near hysteria by the end of the song grabbed my imagination. How wonderful it would be, I thought, to go downtown, where the neon signs are pretty and you could forget all your troubles, whatever those were, since as a kid I had none really.

Years later I learned that the "downtown" in that song was inspired by Times Square. So when I read earlier this year that Tony was being inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, I wanted to interview him about the song's origins and where he was standing when the melody struck him. As always with such profiles, I did a ton of listening and reading in advance.

In addition to his work with Petula Clark, Tony produced the Searchers, Jackie Trend, Julie Grant, Kathy Kirby and other British acts whose hits never made the same leap en masse to the U.S. as other Brit bands did. He also produced David Bowie's first singles in '66 for Pye. Eventually he became known in Europe as the British Burt Bacharach. But what intrigued me most as I listened to Tony's lengthy discography were his instrumentals of pop hits featuring the Tony Hatch Orchestra. He's really a sharp arranger.

That's when it hit me: Downtown really marked the beginning of the adult British Invasion. Though the song was sung by a pert blonde who sang with a marmalade accent, she was really fronting an orchestra dressed up to sound like a rock band. As Tony noted: "Pet Clark had two audiences—American teens and adults back home."

Downtown also provided a way for Las Vegas and American TV shows to sell the British Invasion to more mature and resistant audiences. Tom Jones had a big-band rock sound behind him on It's Not Unusual, thanks to songwriter-arranger Les Reed. In fact, so did most of Sir Tom's hits. And if you go onto YouTube and seek out covers of rock songs by older pop artists of the time—either on LP or television—you're likely to hear a large orchestra delivering the Swinging London sound. [Pictured above: Tom Jones, Priscilla Presley and Elvis Presley]

As Tony and I stood on 48th St., I asked a group of three tourists to take my picture with Tony using my cell phone. The three women—a daughter, mom and grandmother—happily obliged. The daughter took the image. Then I asked if they knew the song Downtown. "Oh sure!" they chirped almost in unison—singing the opening words as proof: "When you're alone and life is making you lonely..."

So I introduced them to Tony and they went nuts. In fact, a guy and a woman selling things on the street behind them overheard me and they, too, became excited. "Oh, we love that song, thank you so much. Can we take your picture for my father?," the trio asked.

As Tony and I walked down into Times Square, he had a sheepish grin on his face. "I guess Americans do remember the song, don't they? [long pause] That's quite nice, really."

JazzWax tracks:Ultimate Petula Clark (BMG) is about as
good as it gets for her '60s hits here. The Very Best of The Searchers will give you a good selection of the Hatch-produced material here. Julie Grant's material is very hard to come by, reflected by the price here. There are a bunch of Kathy Kirby collections; here'sMake Someone Happy as a sample. Where Are You Now: The Pye Anthologyhere is a solid Jackie Trent set. And here's David Bowie's Pye singles produced by Tony.

June 12, 2013

Singer David Allyn joined Jack Teagarden's band in early 1940—just months after Frank Sinatra began singing with Tommy Dorsey. Both singers learned a great deal about phrasing from their trombonist bosses. When Sinatra left Dorsey in '42 to record as a solo artist at Columbia, Allyn went into the Army. After Allyn returned to the States in the mid-40s and recovered from battle shock suffered in North Africa, he began singing with Boyd Raeburn's band. [Photo of David Allyn and Jack Teagarden in 1959]

While Sinatra became a heartthrob in the late '40s and brought a new romantic naturalism to pop singing, Allyn did the same as a jazz singer—recording with Johnny Richards, Tommy Talbert, Lyle Griffin and Paul Smith. And then in the early '50s Allyn wiped out. Drug addiction led to check fraud, and his arrest resulted in a prison term for a good chunk of the '50s. [Pictured above: David Allyn]

When Allyn was released in '57, he still had his vocal chops. But times had changed and so had the sound of vocalists. Romantics were out and pop swingers were in—thanks largely to Nat King Cole, Peggy Lee and Frank Sinatra. Meanwhile, opportunities for jazz singers were drying up as jazz instrumentalists excelled in the LP era and pop and r&b began to dominate radio and phonographs. By 1963, recording dates for jazz singers of Allyn's ilk were scarce.

David's evolution is documented on the new album David Allyn: Where You At?—1941-'64 (Hep), which features the singer in a range of settings, mostly before his incarceration in 1952. The album features many recordings that are out of print, including Soft as Spring (1941) with Jack Teagarden, Where You At? (1945) with Boyd Raeburn, Snowbound (1946) with Lucky Thompson and Did You Ever See a Dream Walking (1949) with the Paul Smith Trio.

Perhaps my favorite track on this set is It Can't Be Wrong (1949), with strings and orchestra arranged by Johnny Richards. Here David is at his peak in the '40s, with a thoroughly modern interpretation that's as caressing as it is beautiful. The set also includes both sides of a single recorded in 1959—Here's the Way It Is and Pleasant Dreams. [Pictured above: David Allyn]

The CD's last track—Where You At? from 1964—is a fascinating contrast to his first recording of the song in '41, the CD's first track. Backed by a big band for an album produced by Tony Curtis called This Is My Lucky Day, the song swings and punches and David is on the edge of it all the way through, with an improvised shout at the end—"where you at!" That was David—hip, brash and swinging. [Pictured above: David Allyn and Tony Curtis in the studio]

David died late last year. He was ahead of his time—but often the victim of a disconnect between his ambitions and reality. Where You At? provides a sampling of David's skills before his troubles began and offers further evidence of his uncanny ability to connect with hearts. [Pictured above: David Allyn in 2010]

JazzWax tracks: You'll find David Allyn: Where You At?—1941-'64 (Hep) here. More on the Hep label here.

JazzWax clip: Here's David singing Kim Gannon and Max Steiner's It Can't Be Wrong, the melody from the film Now, Voyager...

June 11, 2013

The finest new orchestral jazz album I've heard this year is Steve Lindeman's The Day After Yesterday (Jazz Hang). The intelligence of the compositions and arrangements can only be described as breathtaking. The melodies and harmonies are tender and braided beautifully, and the one vocal track is splendidly executed, with overdubbing that rivals the Singers Unlimited—without the sticky commercial aftertaste.

This album's genesis has quite a story. In 2008, Steve Lindeman applied to attend the prestigious BMI Jazz Composers Workshop in New York. Though Lindeman lives in Utah and is a professor of music theory at Brigham Young University, his daughter lives in Brooklyn, which enabled him to meet the Workshop's stringent attendance rules—up to three meetings a month for nine months over the course of three years.

During that period, Lindeman wrote the music on this CD. When it was completed, he put the arrangement in front of BYU Synthesis [pictured above]—an 18-piece band directed BYU's Ray Smith. There also are two special guests—vocalist Kelly Eisenhour and tuba player Steve Call—as well as a micro unit of four instrumental specialists known as Q'd Up. Lindeman plays the Hammond organ.

Lindeman's music and arrangements are gentle and cinematic—setting scenes and creating moods with soft, dramatic flare. Best of all, Lindeman [pictured above] knows how to bring sections in and out or let them linger and overlap for suspense or complexity. I also adore the overall smoothness and conversational quality of the instrumental textures. It's like having a mink glove brushed across your ear. There's a summery feel about the entire album—the slow sunrise, the scents, the broiling intensity and cool evenings.

This is a perfectly envisioned and executed album—without a single note of disappointment. Every song
provides maximum delight to the ear, giving the sophisticated listener plenty to latch onto. Lindeman's taste is remarkable. It's impossible to sample any track from this album and not be disappointed when the 30-second clip ends. [Pictured: Kelly Eisenhour]

June 10, 2013

Ever wonder how iconic California rock album covers came together in the 1960s and '70s? Reader Bob Rosenbaum alerted me to a documentary up at YouTube that details the events behind the scenes through the eyes of photographer Henry Diltz and art director/artist Gary Burden. The documentary also sheds light on the bands photographed. You can buy Under the Covers: A Magical Journey: Rock 'n' Roll in L.A. in the 60's and 70'shere.

June 08, 2013

Now on tour, Tony Bennett was interviewed by The News Tribune in Tacoma, Wash. yesterday. At one point during the Q&A with writer Rosemary Ponnekanti, Tony was asked about his down time when not performing:

Q: What music do you like listening to?A: Jazz is definitely my first love, but I also like to listen to classical music, especially when I paint.

Q: What are you reading at the moment?A: I just started a book called Why Jazz Happened by a very talented jazz journalist named Marc Myers.

Thoroughly humbled and honored.

Follow me on Twitter. Don't know much about Twitter? It's easy. Go here, sign up and search for me at Marc Myers@JazzWax. Then just click "follow." You'll be able to track all of my bite-sized thoughts on music throughout the day. I'm also at Facebook at Marc JazzWax Myers.

Vanna on Diana. For my "Playlist" column in this weekend's Wall Street Journal (go here—or pick up the paper), I interview Wheel of Fortune'sVanna White on the song that has meant the most to her and why. Vanna's pick was Diana Ross's I'm Coming Out. Vanna is a throwback to a time when TV personalities were sweet, easy-going and positive. And what you see on TV is what I got on the phone—a smart, polite and gentle soul. Here's Vanna recently on Katie Couric's daytime show...

Naima plays Ruby My Dear. I'm not big on child jazz prodigies. For me, a jazz musician really has to know a song's history and meaning for a performance to be credible. But I'm making an exception in the case of my friend's daughter Naima. Here's Naima playing Thelonious Monk's Ruby My Dear four years ago when she was 10. Trust me on this...

Impulse! Producer and Impulse Records-founder Creed Taylor called last week to alert me to a Macy's ad in The New York Times (above). We had good a laugh over the interpretation of his label's logo by the department store.

Buzz and Dolby. Last week, moonwalker Buzz Aldrin hipped me to his duet with tech-popster Thomas Dolby. They performedShe Blinded Me with Science at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C....

Time Out. Let's say you love Dave Brubeck and vinyl but you're too busy to pull out your LP version of Time Out or get up to turn it over. Stay where you are and let me do it for you (courtesy of reader John Cooper)...

Bud Powell. On Friday, reader Michael Simonetti sent along the following note in the wake of my post on Bud Powell...

"I saw Bud at a Carnegie Hall concert promoted by Oscar Goodstein shortly before he died in '66. He literally had to be walked to the piano, and it was obvious that he was not well. I was aware of his history and felt at the time his future was in doubt. Bud did two or three tunes for an abbreviated set and was then accompanied off the stage, offering a wave to the audience. Bud's playing was a shadow of his best work, but it really didn't
matter, since I felt that simply seeing him perform was a privilege.

"I saw him again at Birdland in New York during the same period and sat in the 'bullpen' with other 'kiddies,' as Pres [Lester Young] referred to the school-age listeners sipping Cokes. I sat close enough to the piano to watch Bud's hands on the keyboard.

"Bud would pause for long periods, staring off somewhere or go into a different tune at the bridge, leaving his bassist and drummer to deal with the tempo changes. Bud hummed, rocked back and forth, and often grunted freely. Sometimes he threw his head back and laughed or shouted. I never saw him speak.

"I have all the recordings you mentioned and many more. Bud's later work, as you know, is often criticized for inconsistency. All one has to do is listen to his 1947 Roost trio recordings like Back Home Again in Indiana or Bud's Bubble to be reminded of his genius.

"Bud changed the way the piano was played for an entire generation of pianists. He also was a strong influence on numerous artists including Chick Corea and Barry Harris. Bud remains one of a handful of jazz musicians who can deservedly be called a true original."

CD discoveries of the week. Writer/editor Todd Selbert turned me on to the Roland Vazquez Band's The Visitor. Vazquez's 19-piece Afro-Cuban orchestra has chops but never overplays the music. All but one of the album's songs are by Vazquez, and the arrangements are superb. The band dates back to 1991, and this CD is Vazquez's 10th album as a composer/leader. Originally from California, Vazquez has studied at several major music schools. You'll find his bio here. What I love about this album is the way the band flexes its muscle tersely. It doesn't rely on long-winded solos or cascades of rhythm but instead moves archly along the melody lines, with the sections coming and going with harmony. The band is a big, mighty machine that is able to operate tenderly and with funky sass. Sample the title track and Whirlpool.

If you like soul served the old fashioned way—romantic and riff-smart—dig vocalist Sonny Charles' Let's Do It. Songs are about love and
dreams, have catchy melodies and move logically from beginning to end. Sonny was the lead singer of the Checkmates Ltd. and now sings with the Steve Miller Band. Twelve of the 13 tracks are catchy originals. Not only does Sonny have fabulous phrasing as a singer but he's also a solid songwriter—as Never Had a Dream, Let's Do It and Wait on Me Baby demonstrate. This is an album of newly crafted soul classics that will take you back to the late '60s and early '70s.

If you only have a few of Sarah Vaughan's mid'50s jazz albums on EmArcy and Mercury, Verve has released Divine: the Jazz Albums 1954-58—a box that features seven remastered
albums on four CDs: Images (1954), Sarah Vaughan (1954), Land of Hi-Fi (1955), Swing Easy (1957), At Mister Kelly's (1957), After Hours at the London House (1957) and No Count Sarah (1958), which includes her nonpareil rendition of Moonlight in Vermont. Sassy never sounded so good, especially backed by Ronnell Bright on the London House recording. The book-like box includes original covers and liners by Will Friedwald.

When Marvin Gaye's Trouble Man movie soundtrack album came out in 1972, it was a bit of a departure for the Motown singer, who had previously released the socio-political opus What's Going On. And while the cop-movie music wasn't about the ecology or Vietnam war, it had a cool energy similar to soundtracks for Shaft and Superfly. In
2010, saxophonist Robert Aaron took on the music on Robert Aaron: Trouble Man (Heavenly Sweetness). The result is a perfect blend of jazzy soul and funk. Best of all, there's no sampling or computerized beats here. If this album has an older relative, it would have to be Grover Washington Jr.'s Inner City Blues for CTI in '72. Aaron is a studio musician who tends to keep a low profile. Fortunately, this album gives us a glimpse of his rich bag.

Oddball album cover of the week.

It's bad enough Claude Thornhill's music was thought of as Easy Listening in the LP era. Here, on this cover, he's cast as the guy who will put you to sleep. Hard to tell if our model is in ecstasy over Thornhill's strains or conking out and using the tree behind her to remain upright. And how she wound up in the woods in the first place is anyone's guess.

June 07, 2013

A month ago, I spent nearly two hours with David Crosby in New York at the duplex a friend of his. The apartment was on a perilously high floor of the Time Warner condo apartments in New York and had a majestic view of Central Park. David was in town to appear with bandmates Stephen Stills and Graham Nash at a Jazz at Lincoln Center concert celebrating Crosby, Stills & Nash's music.

My conversation with David appears in today's Wall Street Journal (go here) and centers on his life-long passion—sailing his74-foot schooner, the Mayan. From the time he was 11, David has loved sailing. Being ejected from the Byrds in 1967 provided him with the excuse he needed to buy a boat. So he borrowed money from Monkee Peter Tork and went down to Florida. His goal was to find a schooner—a John Alden-designed model he had admired as a kid while sailing around Santa Monica Harbor.

David found one in Ft. Lauderdale and bought it, eventually sailing to San Francisco and living aboard the vessel until 1970. He's taken many long voyages with deckhands and friends—up to 3,000 miles from California. He loves the adventure and seems fearless when it comes to placing his fate in the hands of the elements. He still owns the Mayan today, though he says the upkeep is tough for him financially.

David also has been suffering from three hard illnesses. As he said to me: "Look, I have maybe 10 more years, if I’m lucky. I have three fatal diseases—hepatitis C, diabetes and heart disease. All killers, and no cure. I’m managing them. I’m going to the gym three days a week, I’m feeling strong and I can still make audiences feel great." His greatest wish is that Neil Young will rejoin CSN for one last tour so he can earn enough to keep the Mayan and pay off the mortgage on his home.

David is notoriously hostile to journalists but somehow we hit it off. Once he heard that I was a jazz writer and that I knew his father's work inside and out (Floyd Crosby was the cinematographer on High Noon and many other great films), he relaxed and we had fun. David played the apartment's baby grand piano for me and we talked jazz. David saw John Coltrane perform in Chicago in the '60s and his favorite jazz musician is Bill Evans. I know, a mind-blower. [Photo above: Gary Cooper in High Noon, 1952]

Sitting on an enormously long black leather sofa looking out on the park through 20-foot-high glass windows, David and I talked movies, sailing, jazz, folk-rock, family, his health and a new album he's recording due next year. I found David to be startlingly honest, emotionally overjoyed about music and life, and relentlessly down to earth.

As a founding member of the Byrds and the supergroup Crosby Stills & Nash (with the occasional addition of Neil Young), David is one of folk-rock's originators—taking the grass-roots spirit of folk in the '60s and giving it a rock urgency. The movement remains vibrant today, and its cultural spin-offs—health food, all-natural fabrics, organic food, a clean environment, conservation, alternative fuels, etc.—are mainstream today.

But what I remember most about David from our time together in the apartment wasn't his wild, flowing white hair or his white 19th-century moustache but his eyes. They seemed on fire with life, unmoved by commercial distraction or the allure of opportunism. Through their intensity, they appeared to beg me to always keep things real and poetic and never mask the truth.

I think we often take artists who created the music we love for granted. We automatically assume the music we listen to fell out of the sky and that we deserve to own it—like people wheeling purchased groceries to a waiting car. In truth, we're darn lucky that the music that moves us most (jazz, folk, rock—whatever) was created at all, recorded and made available. Creating music is a fragile evolution, and the fact that it connects with a generation and forges a commonality is astonishing.

David Crosby's music has always provided a spiritual awakening. It's a mood thing and a period thing, I suppose. When I hear the purity of his guitar and voice, I think of a time when little we encountered was natural—including the color of nearly all products. There also was enormous social tension between those with long and short hair, those who liked watching sports and those who didn't, and those who cared about others and those who didn't. David's music was a breath of fresh air back then. His songs made it safe to pause and think.

JazzWax tracks: Sony recently issued all of the Byrds'
albums for Columbia in a box here. Crosby, Stills & Nash's albums have been remastered and reissued by Rhino. An interesting album to add to your collection is Demos (Rhino), which
was released in 2009 and features many of the group's best-known songs stripped down, before they were recorded. Go here.

For a greater focus on David's music, Rhino issued a
three-CD box in 2006 called Voyagehere. The label recently released a three-CD box of Stephen Stills' work called Carry Onhere.

About

Marc Myers writes regularly for The Wall Street Journal and is author of "Anatomy of a Song" (Grove) and "Why Jazz Happened." Founded in 2007, JazzWax is a two-time winner of the Jazz Journalists Association's best blog award.